The Curse of Karen Cahill
by Len
Summary: Josh/Donna: Donna gets revenge for events seen in the 'Leadership Breakfast'.


The Curse of Karen Cahill  
by: Len  
Spoilers: The Leadership Breakfast  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: The West Wing belongs to Aaron Sorkin and NBC.  
Notes: Feedback is my friend!! First posted to the JoshDonnaFF yahoo group.  
  
PART ONE  
  
"Hey, Donna!"  
  
I don't look up from my transcription. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go   
away...but who am I fooling? You can't ignore Joshua Lyman. Even now I   
sense him willing me into his office. I heave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm   
busy!"  
  
"Don-na," he says again in a sing-song kind of way. I find his tone very   
threatening. "Please?"  
  
Okay, this is bad.  
  
I pick up a notebook, just to have something to use as a shield, and make   
my way into his office with less-than-enthusiastic strides. One might even   
call it tip-toeing.  
  
See what that woman has reduced me to? I am behaving meekly in front of   
the Deputy Chief of Staff. Dear Lord I am so humiliated.  
  
"Yeah, Josh?"  
  
"Could you get me some coffee?"  
  
I weigh my options carefully. Get coffee, or stay and engage in the   
banter that will eventually lead back to the topic of... "Yeah, okay."  
  
I grab his mug. It is white with the word 'BOSS' printed across it in   
large, black letters. When I gave it to him I thought it was sort of funny.   
Now it's just another reminder of how I joined the Karen Cahill Klutz   
Club.  
  
Whatever Josh's expression is when I agree to the coffee, I miss it. I   
honestly can't look him in the eye right now. This really is too bad-I'm   
sure it's priceless.  
  
I am going to kill Karen Cahill.  
  
Okay, that was scary. I'm not a violent person, it's just that unwittingly   
depositing one's undergarments on the floor of a very prestigious   
establishment rarely brings out the best in a person. Especially when the   
person you were trying to be nice to at that particular establishment turns   
around and sends your underwear to your boss at the White House. Special   
delivery, no less.  
  
I am going to seriously maim Karen Cahill.  
  
Right now, Sam is heading towards me with an apologetic look on his face.   
In the span of two days, Sam has gone through four distinctive stages. And   
just to keep my mind off my humiliation, I will describe them.  
  
Number one: pre-embarrassment embarrassment. It was embarrassment over   
imagining all the embarrassing things that he _could_ do in front of Karen   
Cahill. He has a vivid imagination. Number two: actual embarrassment over   
an embarrassing thing he _did_ do in front of Karen Cahill. Number three:   
empathetic embarrassment over something embarrassing that someone _else_ did   
in front of Karen Cahill. And finally, the really annoying one: the guilt   
of believing that he ultimately caused someone else to embarrass themselves   
in front of Karen Cahill. Of course he's wrong about that one--ultimately,   
the whole thing was Josh's fault, but I'm still not happy with Sam.  
  
On a side note, I have often marveled at the people in the Bartlet   
administration. I once thought that politicians were born without the   
emotion of guilt. Not our guys. Sam blames himself for every accident in   
his vicinity, Josh blames himself for most of the problems of the Free World   
(although he also takes credit for most of its accomplishments)...hell, even   
the Presidential Aide blames himself for, well, you know.  
  
Karen Cahill would say that this is because none of them are real   
politicians.  
  
I strongly dislike Karen Cahill.  
  
Oh, I guess I've wandered.  
  
So has Sam, coincidentally. He is attempting to weave casually through   
the people and desks in the bullpen. He is failing miserably. While he is   
picking up the files he accidentally knocked to the floor, I sneak past,   
questing for coffee.  
  
I am lacking in stealth, today. The underwear incident has apparently   
knocked me completely out of my groove. I know this because I gradually   
pick up various office workers en route to the coffee machine. They say   
nothing as I pour the luke-warm liquid into the mug. They are watching   
history in the making. They are watching the Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff   
cave in on her fundamental beliefs. They are watching me get coffee for   
Joshua Lyman.  
  
I realize this at the same time I notice the hush around the office, and   
suddenly something snaps. The big, bold, 'BOSS' on the mug is mocking me.   
I give it a scathing look, walk purposely over to a metal trash-can, and   
upend the contents of the mug into it with a flourish.  
  
The people around me start breathing again. I belatedly realize that the   
considerate thing to do would have been to dump it down the sink, because   
now someone will have to deal with a liquid-filled trash bag. However, I   
felt the moment required something nice and dramatic. I'll come back and   
clean up my mess after the audience has dispersed.  
  
I make my way back to Josh's desk, my head held high and an empty mug in   
my hand. Sam looks at me like he's trying to work up the nerve to   
apologize. I just smile sweetly at him, which makes him gulp.  
  
That's sort of funny. Sam Seaborne is so afraid of women.  
  
Josh's door is open, and I stride through it. He looks up with a smirk.  
  
I set his mug carefully down on his desk. "Get your own coffee, bub."  
  
I swear the man looks almost relieved. "It was worth a shot."  
  
"Yes, I suppose it was."  
  
"Josh Lyman never gives up, Donnatella."  
  
My turn for a smirk. "Donna Moss never caves, Joshua."  
  
With that terribly witty remark, I flounce out of the room.  
  
The rest of the day creeps past with agonizing slowness. At three, Josh   
goes to a meeting on the Hill and by six thirty he hasn't returned. Time to   
make my escape.  
  
  
PART TWO  
  
The next day is better. The sun is shining, the birds are...well, they're   
not chirping. They've all flown south for the winter. But I can deal with   
that. Best of all, I don't see hidden laughter on the faces of my   
colleagues. I have about half an hour to gossip before Josh gets in, so I   
casually make my way over to where Margaret is making a cup of tea. I do   
casual so much better than Sam.  
  
"Good morning, Margaret!" I chirp.  
  
She turns to me with a smile. "Morning, Donna. I was so sorry to hear   
what happened yesterday. Just between you and me-that woman with the Times   
is a witch!"  
  
"I don't think that's exactly breaking news." I say with a laugh, "I'm   
beginning to understand why our bosses are terrified of the woman. Well," I   
amend, "except for Josh. He's used to people ripping him to shreds in the   
media. He enjoys it."  
  
"Yes, well, he came in here yesterday and made Leo promise to call Karen   
Cahill and get an apology. I think," Margaret tosses her head slightly with   
pride, "That Karen Cahill is afraid of Leo."  
  
"Josh told _Leo_ about this? He didn't already know?"  
  
I think the redhead is finally starting to register that something is   
wrong. "Yeah. About two o'clock yesterday."  
  
"He told Leo," I say weakly.  
  
Margaret looks sympathetic and moves off to her office. I return to my   
desk to plot all the ways I could get revenge on Karen Cahill. What's   
annoying is that I can't think of how you even begin to get revenge on a   
reporter without killing your career.  
  
As I frown at my blank computer screen, the blur that is Josh breezes past   
into his office. "Good Morning, Donnatella!" he calls.  
  
"Morning, Josh!"  
  
I give him his five minutes to get his head together before following him   
in with his schedule. What I see when I enter makes me freeze. And damn my   
alabaster skin-I can feel my face imitating a cherry tomato. Josh is   
leaning back in his chair tapping an envelope against his hand thoughtfully.   
It is the envelope that my underwear arrived in yesterday.  
  
Forget Karen Cahill. I'm going to kill Josh.  
  
After a moment, the big dork finally notices that I am staring at the   
object in his hand. Curious, he looks at it, and then drops it like a hot   
potato when he realizes what it is. He then behaves in typical   
Josh-fashion: when embarrassed, attack.  
  
"Get lost somewhere between your desk and my office, Donna?" he inquires.  
  
"Only in thought. You told Leo."  
  
"Yes I did."  
  
"You told the Chief of Staff that you received my underwear in the mail?"   
I think my voice is squeaking.  
  
"You're angry," he cleverly observes.  
  
"I most certainly am. It wasn't enough that you had to twirl my underwear   
around in front of the entire building, but you then go and inform the   
_only_ person who didn't witness it personally?"  
  
"I wasn't twirling it!"  
  
"You were so twirling it, Josh!"  
  
"I just wanted to let him know that this whole shoe fiasco had gotten   
blown completely out of proportion and Karen Cahill had stepped over the line   
into personal attack. It wasn't my intention to embarrass you. I just   
though you needed an apology, so I'm going to get you one."  
  
"Oh," I said. That is kind of sweet. But our working relationship is   
based almost entirely on not saying how much we appreciate each other, so I   
change the subject. "You can't wear that to your meeting with Congresswoman   
Wilson, Josh."  
  
"Wilson...is she the one-"  
  
"Who sounds like she's got chronic bronchitis? Yep."  
  
He rubs his face with his hand. "Great. When do I have to go schmooze?"  
  
"Uh...she's your ten o'clock."  
  
"Oh. Right. I have to talk to her about that thing with the thing,   
right?"  
  
"Uh huh. Moving right along, at twelve you have a luncheon with some   
dignitaries from Indonesia-"  
  
"Not again."  
  
"'Fraid so. The file's under your mug. At three you have a meeting with   
CJ and Cleo Withers-"  
  
"Who the hell is Cleo Withers?"  
  
"From the DOE. I thought I told you yesterday. Word is Frank Peterson is   
about to get the boot."  
  
"Donna!" Josh pretends to look shocked. "Stooping to petty gossip, are   
we? That is so beneath you!"  
  
"Yeah, well, the depths I descend for my boss. Lucky for you I do, or you   
wouldn't have a clue what was going on."  
  
Josh leans back and props his feel on his desk. "I happen to be a very   
observant guy!"  
  
I smirk. I have been hanging around Josh way too much. "Yeah, you can   
spot a news camera a mile away."  
  
"You're just jealous because I'm more photogenic than you are."  
  
"You so totally wish, Josh. Anyway, getting back to the Cleo thing, I   
just wanted to warn you so you don't insult her or Frank or the DOE."  
  
"Have they done something to evoke my wrath?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Then what makes you think I'll insult them?"  
  
"The fact that a person is undeserving has rarely stopped you in the   
past."  
  
He nods at the irrefutable logic of this, and then puts on his innocent   
face. "Could you get me some coffee, Donna?"  
  
I lean forward from where I am perched on his desk and smile dangerously.   
"Get it yourself."  
  
He blinks.  
  
"What's wrong with my outfit?" he asks after a moment.  
  
"Your tie is yellow."  
  
"And you suddenly find the color yellow offensive?"  
  
"On you, yes. Especially when coupled with a brown shirt."  
  
"Brown?" He looks down at his shirt. "Oh. I thought it was black."  
  
I look skeptical, and he says defensively, "It was dark when I got   
dressed."  
  
"Are you familiar with Thomas Edison and the light bulb, Josh?"  
  
"It does ring a bell..."  
  
"Well, you have a meeting in ten minutes with Leo." I hop off the desk   
and grab a gray shirt hanging off his bookcase. "I'll find somebody to iron   
this before your ten o'clock. It's the best we can do."  
  
"What would I do without you, Donna?"  
  
Another smirk opportunity. "Whatever you damn-well pleased, I imagine,   
Joshua."  
  
This won me a full-blown laugh. "But fortunately I have an abusive,   
tyrannical assistant to keep be in line."  
  
"Ooh. Give me a moment to find the compliment in that--"  
  
"Why do have your name sewn in your underwear, Donna?"  
  
I freeze.  
  
"I really am curious," he continues. "Are you in the habit of losing your   
underwear in public places?"  
  
"We're not done with discussing your unconscious tendency towards   
Sting-like dressing, Josh."  
  
"I can understand the accident part. I can. I can almost understand   
writing your name in indelible ink on a tag. But having your name actually   
sewn into your underwear is completely beyond me.'  
  
"I mean, on Sting, it's a good look. He looks totally sexy. But I think   
that the White House just isn't ready for the 80's pop-look. I suggest you   
stick to white shirts and tame ties."  
  
"And if I were you, I'd remove the tags. The potential for disaster and   
humiliation is too great. Especially if you're going to start wearing your   
pants two days in a row."  
  
Okay. That's it. I don't think I'm ever going to forgive Karen Cahill   
for supplying Josh with blackmail material. I can't even kid him about his   
Secret Plan to Fight Inflation, because then he'll just give me that look   
that says 'I've seen your underwear' and render me incapable of a witty   
reply.  
  
"Okay, Josh, you want to know why I had my name sewn into my underwear?   
Do you really want to know?"  
  
He nods and does his best to look superior to the whole situation. The   
result is laughable, but I'm not amused. I move closer to him and look him   
in the eye.  
  
"My mom got a new sewing machine last year. You know, one of those   
computerized ones?"  
  
He obviously does not know, but that's fine with me.  
  
"You can program it to sew up personalized tags. It even does   
graphics. So for last Christmas she sent me, like, seventy of those tags.   
She went totally tag-happy. Josh," I say, "I don't have seventy pieces of   
major clothing. I am too poor to have a wardrobe like that."  
  
The light is dawning. I can see it on Josh's face. "So you have your   
name sewn in all of your clothing?"  
  
"I refrained from sewing tags on my socks, so don't look at me like that."  
  
He has an unreadable expression on his face. He motions for me to turn   
around. Reluctantly, I do so. Very carefully he lifts my hair and flips up   
the tag on my shirt. "Hey, you really do have your name sewn in your   
clothes," he says in a choked voice.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, it's a good idea if you do   
your laundry in a Laundromat. After all, it was rose satin bikini   
underwear, Josh. It's pretty. You never know who would want to steal it   
out of a dryer."  
  
I notice that Josh has an expression similar to when he discovered the   
underwear, only now it is untainted by mortification. He's about to bust a   
gut laughing. I'm going to kill him.  
  
"Oh, laugh before you choke, you big jerk," I say, pushing him back into   
his chair. "And you're going to be late to your meeting."  
  
I storm out of his office and slam the door behind me. It doesn't block   
the sound of his very contagious laughter. In fact, the very sound of it   
makes several passers-by smile.  
  
Oh, revenge will be sweet.  
  
PART THREE  
  
It's slightly after eleven in the morning when the telephone rings.  
  
"Joshua Lyman's office," I answer. I may be angry at the man but I  
still have a job to do.  
  
"Ms. Moss?" I slightly husky female voice inquired. "This is Karen  
Cahill."  
  
"Oh. Ms. Cahill. Can I help you?" I inquire coldly. Then the  
woman has the audacity to laugh. I grit my teeth.  
  
"Ms. Moss--or may I call you Donna?"  
  
"That's fine."  
  
"Well, I'm calling to apologize."  
  
Oh. Swell. Josh will be so pleased. He alone will have the  
rights to my humiliation. I turn in my back to the rest of the room  
and scowl at the wall, the receiver clenched in my fist.  
  
"Apologize?"  
  
"Yes. And not because Leo McGarey ordered my to, either. I'm a  
big girl. I'm doing this on my own."  
  
"This is about the...um..."  
  
"Yes." Over the phone I could hear her sigh, and then take a deep  
breath. "I really am sorry Donna--I honestly wasn't expecting your  
boss to open the envelope. I'm not quite that...well, bitchy."  
  
I tap a highlighter impatiently against my knee. "Ms. Cahill, I'm  
not quite sure what you mean. It was addressed to _him_, not me."  
  
"See, that's just it. As his assistant, I would have thought for  
sure that you'd be the one to open the envelope. And if I addressed  
it to you, it would have made people curious. Assistants, if I'm not  
mistaken, don't get much mail."  
  
Oh.  
  
"Well, put like that, I guess I understand why...but you have to  
realize one thing. I'm not remiss in my duties, or anything. But  
you sent it special delivery."  
  
"I don't know where you're going with that."  
  
"Have you ever met Josh Lyman, Ma'am?"  
  
"Of course I have. One of the top five most egotistical men in  
Washington. Does that help?"  
  
I'm getting the impression that Karen Cahill is not a member of  
Josh's fan club. Although, she is several decades too old for it.  
  
"Josh--well, he loves to be important, and special deliveries are  
one of the perks of his job. I always give him special deliveries.  
He likes them."  
  
"The man is even more child-like than I imagined," she mutters.  
  
"Hey!" I protest.  
  
"Sorry. Listen, I have a plan."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Let me take you out to lunch."  
  
I can feel my face blanche. "Uh...Ms. Cahill, the whole underwear  
incident, it wasn't an...uh...overture of any sort..."  
  
Again she laughs her kind of husky laugh. I remember how strongly  
she smelled of cigarette smoke at the gallery. "Oh, Donna, honey--it  
wouldn't matter if you were. That kind of thing just doesn't butter  
my muffin, if you know what I mean. No, I meant as an apology. And  
I can pick your brain for White House insider tidbits."  
  
"Ms. Cahill, in that case, sure. But I'm warning you, you're not  
going to get anything out of me that I don't want you to get."  
  
"I'm a trained professional."  
  
"And I've learned stonewalling and stubbornness from one of the  
most accomplished practitioners in the country."  
  
"Oh, you're a gem, Donna. Why do you put up with Lyman?"  
  
"He's the only employer that's put up with me, Ms. Cahill."  
  
"Well, maybe I can do a piece on you--'Woman Behind the Scenes'.  
How's that sound?"  
  
Ha! Take that, Mr. 'You're not as photogenic as I am'! I'll have  
my own column! "It's sounds like bribery," I try to say casually. I  
have a feeling I fail.  
  
"We'll see," she replies.  
  
We decide on twelve o'clock and I hang up. I guess I'd better let  
Josh know that any twisted scenarios he's come up with are wrong.  
It'll be great.  
  
I walk down to hallway, feeling on top of the world. I'll be in  
the papers. My name will actually be in the papers, and not just as  
'Third from left, Joshua Lyman's assistant'. I can come into work  
and slap the paper on Josh's desk and say, "Look what Karen Cahill  
wrote this time," and then see the look on his face when he realizes  
I made the Times and he didn't!!!  
  
But until then I will have to settle for telling him he's wrong.  
What a wonderful, sweeping statement: "You're wrong." I like it.  
  
I hear his voice in CJ's office, and I start to grin. I lean  
against the doorframe to wait for a break in their conversation.  
  
Then I hear what they're talking about.  
  
"In the _mail_? That's a little over the top for a bunch of little  
girls, isn't it?"  
  
"It wasn't--it's not what you're thinking. It was an accident."  
  
CJ looks at him from over her glasses. "Explain."  
  
"I...I'd really rather not," he stutters.  
  
My frown turns back into a smile as I watch my boss struggle to  
save my honor. First the apology scheme and now this. I may just  
bring him coffee after all.  
  
CJ continues to press.  
  
"Josh, I found you fondling a strange woman's underwear in the  
middle of the staff bullpen. I really think that you should explain,  
because I am jumping to some conclusions here. Needless to say, they  
aren't pretty."  
  
"I was not fondling! And it wasn't a stranger's underwear--it was  
just Donna's!"  
  
CJ gives up all pretense of reading the file in front of her and  
eyes Josh sharply. From the doorway, I feel my smile begin to  
crumble, and I fold my arms, trying to look smaller  
  
Josh begins pouring out the story. So much for stonewalling. He  
starts with Leo's comparison of Karen's shoes to Dorothy's ruby  
slippers and moves on from there. About half-way through CJ notices  
me in the doorway.  
  
"...So," Josh eventually says, winding up, "Karen Cahill sends them  
to me as some sort of sick joke. The funny thing is...is..."  
  
He sounds like he's having trouble breathing. I almost move  
forward to make sure he's alright when I realize he's trying really  
hard not to giggle. Yes, ladies and gentleman, the Great Josh Lyman  
giggles like a girl.  
  
As usual, he loses the battle and just manages to choke out, "Her  
name was actually sewn in her underwear! She could have gotten away  
with it if she hadn't put her name--"  
  
CJ rolls her eyes. "You really are an idiot, Josh."  
  
Oddly enough, this immediately silences him. In fact, he freezes.  
"She's standing right behind me, isn't she?"  
  
"Mmm hmm. Now run along, children. I've got work to do."  
  
We are dismissed. Josh turns to me with the guilty little boy  
look--the one that usually melts me like a bowl of ice cream in July.  
It fails this time. However, I do wait to rip into him until we're  
in the hallway. Then I grab him by his banana-colored tie and tow  
him back to his office. He is whining the entire way.  
  
"How could you, Josh?" I demand, letting him go. "What is it going  
to take for you to understand that it was very mortifying for me?"  
  
He loosens his tie. "And I'm very sorry about that. I really,  
truly am. I completely understand what it's like to be embarrassed  
in front of Karen Cahill."  
  
"He really does," pipes up Sam from the doorway.  
  
"Really? What did you do?"  
  
He waves it off. "That's not important. All I'm trying to say  
here is that you've got to take that woman in your stride. It's all  
part of working here."  
  
"I want to know what you did," I insist. He loftily ignores me.  
  
"In fact, this entire administration seems to be under some sort of  
Karen Cahill curse."  
  
"The only one who seems to be unaffected by her is the President,"  
Sam offers.  
  
"But that's only because he doesn't actually give a damn about what  
she thinks anyway."  
  
"You think we're cursed?" I ask them incredulously. They nod in  
unison. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."  
  
"Ah. You've obviously never heard the rough draft of one of Sam's  
speeches before."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"It doesn't matter," I say. "I just wanted to let you know, Josh,  
that I am taking the high road. By rights, I should take an extended  
lunch, just to make up for how you've acted lately. But I won't. I  
will be back at here by one-fifteen."  
  
"You've got a lunch date?" Josh asks.  
  
"No. I'm meeting someone for lunch."  
  
"You're meeting someone for lunch but it's not a date?"  
  
"It can happen, Josh."  
  
"Who is it? Another in the parade of mindless, futureless gomers?"  
  
I narrow my eyes. "No. Karen Cahill."  
  
"You have a date with Karen Cahill?" Sam asks intelligently. Josh  
turns to him.  
  
"Was there a reason you're here?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Okay. Just so we're clear on that." He pauses for a moment.  
"Karen Cahill?"  
  
"Yep. Karen Cahill."  
  
"Karen Cahill, the reporter Karen Cahill? The Underwear Karen  
Cahill? The Shoes Karen Cahill?"  
  
I smirk yet again. "For a man with your verbal score, Josh, your adjectives are  
somewhat lacking."  
  
"But...Karen Cahill? The Wicked Witch--"  
  
"--Of the West Wing?" I finish. "The same. I really want to know  
what you did."  
  
"Let's just say that he was less than impressive," Sam offers.  
  
"Oh?" I give Josh a once-over. "I can't imagine you ever being  
less than impressive."  
  
How's that for an exit?! I think in triumph.  
  
"Was she being serious?"  
  
"I think she was being serious," I hear Sam say pensively.  
  
*  
  
Lunch with Karen Cahill is actually quite enjoyable. She is  
very interested in doing a piece on the roll assistants play in  
day-to-day life at the White House. The conversation is pithy, it is  
erudite, and best of all, it will require no next-day explanation. I  
know. Because before I left for the restaurant, I stopped off in the  
ladies room and checked my pants. Just in case.  



End file.
